


Captain's Training

by holdinginpee



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: And then you realize you're writing them and you could make them do that., But instead you just have them continue to not realize the other feels the same way., Do you ever just want to pick up two characters and shake them until they talk about their feelings., F/F, Omorashi, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25510312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdinginpee/pseuds/holdinginpee
Summary: Burnham's training routine includes a somewhat unorthodox exercise. Tilly has no complaints.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Sylvia Tilly
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	Captain's Training

**Author's Note:**

> more people should write these two. omorashi or just in general, either works, i just want Content. i mean, does anybody else remember burnham calling tilly amazing with that smile on her face? or "the only thing i care about coming back is you"? how can anybody deny they're in love.

“Ten laps,” said Michael, slowing to a stop. “That’s enough for today.”

Sylvia stopped a few seconds behind her and leaned against a wall. “Thank God,” she gasped. She knew _why_ Michael had her on this training regimen; she even agreed with it. (It was hard to argue with results - she’d already shaved almost four seconds off her record.) That didn’t mean she had to enjoy it, though.

It didn’t help, either, that Michael was so much less affected by the exertion than her. Sure, she was breathing kind of heavily, but where Sylvia was left sweating, red-faced and blotchy, Michael practically seemed to _glow_. (Sylvia acknowledged to herself that she was probably a _little_ bit biased, but still.) Indeed, she was quite sure that Michael was deliberately slowing down on their morning jogs to keep pace with her. From a lot of people that would have felt condescending, but she knew Michael wasn’t that sort of person. From her it was encouraging, a pace one step ahead of Sylvia’s representing the next step in her improvement - and then another step after that, and another, all the way to Captain.

(She’d rarely met people who seriously believed she could do it, much less with Michael’s wholehearted surety.)

“Here.” Michael’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts to see her holding a package of water from the small pile she’d left at the beginning-and-end point of their laps, so as to rehydrate between each one. Sylvia took it, twisted it open, and drank it, slowly enough to avoid inhaling any of it since she was still breathing heavily. It was blessedly cool and refreshing - the wonders of insulated packaging - but she did feel it joining all the others in her stomach. They weren’t particularly big bottles, perhaps a cupful apiece, but Michael was much more of a stickler for hydration than Sylvia, especially lately. She was starting to fancy she could feel it all sloshing in her stomach, and so early in the day; she knew it would make its way downwards before very long.

That was the point, after all.

* * *

_“Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee…”_

_She jogged through the corridors as quickly as she dared in her current state, feeling the weight in her abdomen bounce and shake with every step. The party had been fun, and it was still ongoing, but when Sylvia had ducked out of her conversation because she couldn’t put off going to the bathroom any longer she’d found it liberally decorated with vomit, presumably from someone who’d had too much to drink in an entirely different sense. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer, having already relieved herself twice since “breaking the seal” some time ago, so she’d made a snap decision to return to her room, use the bathroom there, and then head back to the party. It was only a few corridors over, after all. Easy._

_She hadn’t accounted for quite how badly she needed to go, though._

_“Ohhhh, I gotta pee,” she mumbled to herself. Her bladder throbbed constantly and insistently, trying to force its contents through her clenched muscles; as she rounded the last corner she felt a drop escape and let out a small gasp._

_She made it to her door, waited for it to slide open - in her desperate state it seemed torturously slow - and dashed past the beds to the bathroom door at the other end of the room. That too slid open, and she entered. To her surprise, it was already occupied; there, sitting on the toilet, was- “Michael?”_

_“Tilly,” said Michael in her surprised-almost-question tone. Sylvia’s inebriated train of thought struggled to switch tracks; she squeezed her thighs tightly together and pressed her hands into her crotch as hard as she could, the suddenly-dashed prospect of immediately imminent relief sending her urge into overdrive. Her bladder spasmed, and despite her best efforts another, larger leak squirted from her._

_“I must have forgotten to lock the door,” Michael realized. “I’m sorry. I’ll just-” She inhaled sharply through her teeth. “-go,” she finished. As she awkwardly stood up, Sylvia’s brain finally caught up with her eyes and she began to realize something was weird. It was somewhat unusual for a person to sit on the toilet with their pants still entirely on, for instance, especially with (Sylvia now saw clearly as Michael stood) the lid down. Michael’s legs had been tightly crossed - she had uncrossed them before standing up, but kept them just as tightly together - and, though she’d pulled it away as soon as Sylvia barged in, she was pretty sure she’d had a hand between them._

_In fact… “If I didn’t know better I’d say you have to pee as badly as I do right now,” Sylvia realized aloud. “Which is_ really _badly.” As though to prove the point, another leak forced its way past her shaky resistance - it took more than a full second to clamp down hard enough to stop it, and she knew that it wouldn’t stay stopped for long. The next time would be significantly worse, if she could even stop it at all._

_“I’m fine,” Michael said in a shaky voice that was anything but fine. Further putting the lie to her words, she suddenly bent forward at the waist, clenching her hands into fists which she pressed to her sides and scrunching up her face with effort. She was visibly shaking, Sylvia realized, trembling with the effort of holding it back._

_“You’re not fine,” Sylvia informed her with all the confidence of a drunk person imparting a great revelation._

_“No,” Michael agreed, and apparently reached the end of her control. A small dark patch bloomed on her pants which stopped for a moment, then grew into a larger dark patch covering the entire crotch area and stopped again; and then seemingly all at once they were wet all the way down her legs and a torrent of liquid was pouring from them onto the floor._

_The sheer force of it was astonishing to Sylvia; for several seconds neither of them moved, nor made a sound beyond the pouring of water. Her paralysis was broken by another spasm from her bladder, the desperation all the worse for seeing and hearing Michael relieving herself right in front of her, and suddenly Sylvia too was wetting herself, accumulated alcohol pouring down her legs to join Michael’s pee on the floor, her muscles too tired to hold it back. The relief was incredible, so much so that she let out a quiet moan._

_And, after a while, Sylvia’s stream tapered off._

_Michael’s kept going._

_And going._

_And_ going.

How much was she holding? _Sylvia wondered, staring transfixed at Michael’s legs. Michael herself had straightened up, the tension released from her body; she was visibly avoiding looking at Sylvia or the mess she was making, but Sylvia could see the mixed relief and embarrassment on her face. As Michael continued relieving herself, that question morphed into_ She was holding _this much?_

 _Eventually, Michael’s torrent slowed to a trickle, and finally stopped entirely. Sylvia found herself awestruck. She’d never_ imagined _someone could have that much urine inside them, let alone_ seen _it. The combined puddle of their pee looked to have spread out across the entire floor, from one wall to the other unbroken but for where they stood in it._

_Sylvia started laughing, not entirely sure what it was she found so funny but unable to stop. Michael looked at her, confused, but Sylvia just laughed harder, collapsing into a sitting position on the floor. Her pants were immediately soaked, but they were a write-off by that point anyway._

_Michael shook her head. “Computer, drain the floor and initiate sonic clean.”_

_“Initiating,” the computer acknowledged. Sylvia felt the humming beneath her as the cleaning cycle began, and the liquid drained away through the slits that opened up. Michael sat down beside her and put an arm around her as her laughter started to die away into giggling, then silence. Then the hiccups started._

_“You’re drunk,” Michael informed her._

_“I know,” Sylvia replied between hiccups. She leaned against Michael, resting her head on her shoulder as she waited for them to subside._

_It was an odd place to sit together, but Sylvia had done much weirder things when she’d been drinking. (Fortunately, tattoo removal was easy and painless. And she’d managed to get the photos deleted.) After her hiccups passed and some silence for good measure, Sylvia asked, “How much did you_ drink? _”_

_“Enough.” Well, Michael wasn’t wrong. Where it had been visible pouring between her legs her pee had looked almost clear; she was definitely hydrated. “Do you think you can get up?”_

_“Probably.”_

_“Let’s get cleaned up, then.” Sylvia pouted as Michael pulled away, but obligingly took her hand and let her pull her upright. She gestured to one wall, behind which was one of the two sonic showers adjacent to the room. “I’ll take this shower, you take the other. And then you should have a glass of water before you go to sleep.”_

_“I guess you’re the expert on water,” Sylvia joked, trying not to laugh lest another fit of hysteria take her._

_“Hydration is important,” Michael replied with an amused smile. “Especially if you want to minimize the hangover in the morning.”_

* * *

Lunch break. Halfway through the work shift. A time to relax, refuel, and socialize. Also a time to give one’s brain a break, because there was only so long a girl could stare at data readings without going mad.

No small number of the crew also took the opportunity to use the bathrooms. While regulations expressly permitted Starfleet personnel to leave to relieve themselves if necessary, nobody enjoyed the feeling of all eyes on them, like being back in school and having to ask the teacher for permission to go and all the other kids knowing you couldn’t even wait ten more minutes for the end of the lesson without losing control in your seat.

Or maybe that was just Sylvia.

Ironic, then, that she was not among that number. Not because she didn’t feel any urge - she could feel the weight of her bladder in her abdomen, not yet full enough to be described as desperate but impossible to ignore once she’d shaken herself out of her focus on her work, a constant awareness of the organ and its contents - but because she knew she didn’t yet _need_ it.

The water bottle accompanying her food would certainly push her in that direction, though.

Michael smiled at her as she joined her at her table. Not one of the polite, reserved smiles she offered most people; the genuine expression that Sylvia privately liked to think of as _her_ smile. Michael was such a controlled person, right down to her expressions; it felt good to be (as far as Sylvia knew) the only person who so commonly drew visible feelings from her.

She also scanned over Sylvia’s tray as she put it down to make sure everything on it was on Taskmaster Burnham’s list of approved healthy foods. Couldn’t risk a dangerous cupcake sneaking in, after all.

(She’d tried that _once_ , early on. It hadn’t worked; Michael just swapped it out for a healthy dessert. Which tasted better than the cupcake anyway, not that Sylvia would admit it.)

“You won’t believe what Lieutenant Tate said to Saru today,” Michael told her. Sylvia opened her bottle and took a sip, ignoring her bladder’s faint protest, as Michael started to recount the latest development in the ongoing disagreement she’d been watching play out.

* * *

_When Sylvia woke the morning after her mutual wetting, the incident was lost to the alcohol-induced blur. She had the vague impression that something embarrassing had happened, but since she couldn’t remember what and nobody said anything she simply put it out of her mind._

_Three days later, she glanced up from her workstation and, as was so often the case, she found her eyes drawn to Michael. Her roommate was working beside her, a normal sight, but there was something that caught Sylvia’s attention. It took a moment to place it, but then it clicked: Michael was visibly tense. It was subtle - Michael’s posture was sharp at any time - but Sylvia knew her well enough to read the discomfort in her bearing, the set of her jaw, the tightness of her shoulders._

_Michael shifted subtly, thighs rubbing together in the motion. A vague, blurry memory began to filter back into Sylvia’s mind._

_“Michael, do you need to pee?” she asked quietly, mindful of the other personnel in the room who might overhear._

_“I’m fine,” Michael replied in the same tone._

_“Are you sure? Because you said you were fine the other night.”_

_Michael’s eyes darted over to her. “You remember that?”_

_Sylvia gave a vague shrug. “A little.”_

_“I assumed you’d forgotten.” She sighed. “This isn’t the time or place. I’ll talk once we’re off duty.”_

_“Okay,” Sylvia agreed. “Just make sure you go before it gets that bad.”_

_Michael, oddly enough, gave a slight smile, and returned to her work._

* * *

“You okay there, Tilly?”

“Hm?” Sylvia looked up from her screen at Lieutenant Stamets’ question, and her need to pee hit her like a brick wall. She’d put it out of her mind while she was absorbed in her work, letting her subconscious take over, but now that she was thinking about it it was impossible to ignore. She wasn’t yet in imminent danger of losing control, but that point was getting closer. Her bladder throbbed, muscles stretched tight around the heavy ball of liquid that was weighing her down.

“You’re looking a little restless,” Stamets explained, oblivious to her situation. (Sylvia certainly hoped so, anyway.) “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “Just- been standing here too long, you know?” She realized she was bouncing a little in place and did her best to settle down. She had only limited success, and it certainly didn’t help her desperation.

Michael, beside her, looked up from her own work and reached over to lay a comforting hand on her back. (Tilly, not for the first time, tried not to interpret Michael’s habit of casually touching her in light of her knowledge of Vulcan attitudes towards touch. Michael was still human, her Vulcan mannerisms notwithstanding.) “It has been a long day,” she agreed.

Stamets laughed. “Aren’t they all. At least there’s only-” he looked down at his own workstation to check the time, “-half an hour until end of shift.”

“Almost there,” Sylvia agreed. Stamets nodded and, concerns assuaged, turned his attention back to his work. Sylvia did the same, trying to strike a balance between keeping her mind off her bladder and not letting herself start dancing to hold it in.

Just half an hour more.

* * *

_Michael didn’t bring it up after their shift ended. She simply sat down on her bed, pulled out her datapad, and started reading._

_Sylvia sat on her own bed, facing Michael. “So…” she began._

_Michael looked up at her. “So?”_

_“So, if you need to go, why haven’t you? Why not just use the bathroom if you need to? And why were you sitting on the toilet without using it?” A thought struck her, and she continued without pause. “Wait, is this inappropriate to ask? Did I cross a boundary? I’m sorry if-”_

_“You’re fine, Tilly,” Michael interrupted her. She put down her pad and turned to face Tilly, sitting on the edge of her bed. “I’m not uncomfortable. I was just teasing you.”_

_Sylvia sighed in relief. “Good, okay. I’m not always sure when I say something weird and sometimes I’ve offended someone without realizing.”_

_Michael gave her one of_ her _smiles. “I wouldn’t take offense if I knew you didn’t intend to give it. Just like you don’t take offense at my reservedness.”_

_“There’s nothing to take offense at. It’s not like you’re being rude just because you express yourself differently.”_

_“Exactly.” It took Sylvia a moment to realize what Michael meant, but then it clicked how what she’d said could apply to her too. She knew it was true, but it was harder to extend the same understanding to herself as to others. “So,” Michael continued, “you had some questions for me.”_

_“Yeah.” Sylvia didn’t repeat them; there was no point. She knew Michael had heard her the first time, and even if she hadn’t they would have been pretty easy to guess._

_“It started with my adoption on Vulcan,” Michael began. “I’d never given any particular thought to my bathroom habits. But then I found myself surrounded by Vulcans. Most of them had never met a human, and of those who had only Spock, Sarek, and a very few others were really used to them as_ people _, rather than aliens. So when I, an angry, grieving young girl, joined their number, they evaluated me as a Vulcan rather than a human, and I came up lacking.”_

_“That must have been hard,” Sylvia said. It sounded… very lonely. Very sad._

_“It wasn’t easy,” she agreed. “I had Amanda’s support, of course. And I think eventually I truly came into myself on Vulcan. But the transition was difficult.” She paused for a moment. “Anyway, that’s not strictly relevant. The point was, over the next few years I learned to be a Vulcan. Vulcans are expected to strive for self-control in all things, including bodily needs; visibly displaying a need to use the bathroom is seen as childish. And, as it happens, Vulcan bladders are approximately fifty percent larger than humans’ on average.”_

_Sylvia could see where this was going. “So when you were in class with the Vulcan kids…”_

_“My options were to allow myself to become desperate and seem childish, or use the bathroom frequently and seem weak. Neither option was a good one; Vulcan children don’t bully one another in the same way human children do, but that doesn’t mean they don’t do it at all. After a while, I resolved to train myself to last longer, and began increasing the period at which I relieved myself. As long as I could avoid showing it in public, and longer in private.”_

_“Did it work?”_

_“It did. Soon enough my habits were no longer considered worthy of teasing, and by the time I enrolled in the Vulcan Science Academy I was the least likely of my classmates to need a break. I continued the practice out of habit, and early in my tenure on the_ Shenzhou _a minor emergency situation was complicated by a Lieutenant being away from his post at a critical moment, having left to use the bathroom a minute earlier. So I simply never broke the habit, bringing us to the present day.”_

 _“Huh.” It made sense, but… “Do you_ normally _… wet yourself? Is that part of the training?”_

_Michael flushed slightly. “No. That’s less frequent; only when I find myself alone at the right time, and not in close succession. Straining my muscles on a frequent basis would only be detrimental.”_

_“Why, then?”_

_“Early on in this habit I began to realize I found it enjoyable. Both physically pleasurable, for reasons relating to human anatomy, and a sense of pride at seeing my efforts pay off. And when at one point, in private, I overestimated myself, I found that too was pleasurable. So, when it’s convenient, I repeat the experience.”_

_“Huh,” Sylvia said again. She’d never thought of_ not peeing _as something enjoyable, just kind of annoying. Though, in hindsight, there was that one time when she’d hooked up with a guy and hadn’t had a chance to go pee before the sex, and it_ had _been unusually intense. She’d ended up stopping halfway through because she didn’t think she could hold it, but still._

 _Absently, her gaze settled on Michael’s abdomen. It felt strange, knowing she needed to pee. That she chose to hold on, that she found pleasure in it._ Right now _, her bladder was full, it was stretched tight around her accumulated urine, it was straining to hold it in, it was…_

 _It was visibly swollen, she realized. A noticeable bulge pushing out the front of her clothes that was definitely not there normally. “Is that your_ bladder? _” she blurted out, already knowing the answer._

_Michael looked down at herself. “A full enough bladder can produce visible distention in some cases, yes.” She reached down to lift the bottom of her shirt up, exposing the smooth skin of her stomach where it curved outwards several inches into a bulge._

_Sylvia desperately wanted to touch it. She wanted to feel that beneath her fingertips. She wanted to feel that inside_ herself _. She wanted_ Michael _. She wanted quite a few things all at once and very strongly. All of that jumbled up in her brain what fell out of her mouth was “Should_ I _do that?”_

_Michael looked back up at her, surprised. “What?”_

_Well, she could have had said worse things, she supposed. Still, she scrambled to find an explanation that didn’t involve her intense desire to take Michael’s clothes off of her, or vice-versa. “Well, a Captain having to go to the bathroom in an emergency would be worse than a Lieutenant. And you said it felt good.” Too close to the danger zone, change course. “Plus it would probably be good training for willpower and concentration and pushing past physical discomfort and… stuff,” she trailed off._

_Michael still looked a little confused, but at least she didn’t look like she suspected what Sylvia wasn’t saying. “If… you want to,” she said, “there’s no reason why not. As long as you pay attention to your limits, it can’t hurt.”_

_“I can do that,” she agreed with a little too much enthusiasm._

_“Okay,” Michael said, just going with the flow (so to speak). “The first step would be to determine your normal habits. You’d want to spend a few days, perhaps a week, recording the times you use the bathroom to determine how long you typically wait. After that, you can gradually start extending it…”_

* * *

Sylvia shifted in her seat, uncrossing her legs only to recross them the other way around the hand firmly pressed between them. It didn’t help. Her bladder continued to ache and throb, tired muscles barely holding back the liquid bearing down on them in search of freedom. She hadn’t scrolled her datapad for some time, staring at the same passage without seeing it at all.

Her bladder clenched in a spasm, causing her to gasp as a small leak was forced out of her. There was no more ignoring it, no more denying it; she _needed_ to pee. “I’m about to lose it,” she told Michael, voice shaking with strain.

Michael, in the other chair across the table, looked up at her. “Computer, display Tilly’s and my urinary status.”

The data pushed aside the previous contents of their pads’ screens. “Tilly, Sylvia,” the computer announced. “Highest recorded capacity, one point three six five litres. Highest recorded duration, thirteen hours, twelve minutes. Current capacity, one point two nine five litres. Current duration, twelve hours, fifty-four minutes. Burnham, Michael. Highest recorded capacity, two point eight six litres. Highest recorded duration, twenty-five hours, one minute. Current capacity, one point nine seven litres. Current duration, thirteen hours, two minutes.”

Another spasm gripped Sylvia, sending a shiver through her. Michael barely even looked _uncomfortable._ Here Sylvia was, writhing in place and desperately holding herself to keep control even a few minutes longer, and Michael was half again as full as her and anyone who didn’t know her well wouldn’t even notice she was tense.

Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Michael frowned. “Tilly,” she asked, concerned, “what’s wrong?”

“You mean beyond the obvious?”

“Yes. I’ve seen you like this before, you don’t usually look upset.”

Sylvia gave a frustrated sigh, then squeaked and jumped as another leak was forced out of her. _Note to self, don’t breathe too hard._ She didn’t reply for a moment, busy making sure the leak didn’t turn into a flood, but once she had it more or less under control she looked back up at Michael. “It’s just… I know it’s silly, you’ve had so much more practice than me, but I just… I feel _weak._ In comparison. You’re holding so much more than I am and you don’t even look like you need to go, when I’m like… this.” She gestured vaguely at herself with her free hand.

Michael looked shocked and a little upset. “Tilly, you’re not weak. Not by a long shot.”

“I know that,” she said, and gave Michael a weak smile. “Logically. It’s just hard to convince myself.”

Michael stood up, picked up her chair, and moved around to sit beside Sylvia. She gently laid a hand on her back, rubbing in soothing circles. Despite her situation, Sylvia did relax a little, though she made very sure not to relax the muscles holding her quivering bladder at bay. “I don’t think I mentioned,” Michael began. “Within the first week of training myself, I began to occasionally measure how much I was holding. Wanted to see how well I was doing compared to Vulcans’ natural ability.” She smiled wryly. “We didn’t have a ship’s computer built into our house, of course, so I had to use cruder methods; I stole a measuring container from our kitchen and hid it in my room.” Sylvia gave a small laugh, imagining a teenage Michael sneakily appropriating kitchen equipment. “At the beginning, I could only hold around six hundred millilitres before I lost control of myself. It took me over three months to reach a litre. You’ve made almost twice that amount of progress in a shorter time.” Sylvia looked at her, surprised; her expression was nothing but sincere and encouraging. Even proud. “You’re not weak. You have strength and determination and self-control. Those are just a few of the qualities I admire in you, and of the reasons I-” she hesitated for just a moment, “-know you’ll make an excellent captain.”

Sylvia sniffed. “Thank you,” she replied, a little choked up. “Um. Normally I’d hug you when you said something like that, but… you know.”

Michael laughed. “Later, then.”

“Yeah.” Her bladder started to clench again, more insistently; it felt like its weight was directly atop her sphincter. Buoyed by Michael’s praise, she clenched harder, tightening her control until she no longer felt like she was in immediate danger of wetting herself. Slowly, deliberately, she sat up straighter, adopting a more confident posture. “I think… I can keep going,” she realized aloud.

“Are you sure?”

“No, but I’m gonna try.”

And she did. Despite feeling like she would lose control at any moment, she continued to hold back her urine for long minutes. Gone was any pretense of doing anything else; her entire focus was on the task. Within short order, her other hand joined the one buried in her crotch; her legs crossed over each other twice. She bounced and shook in place, and moaned and whimpered with every jolt and spasm. All the while, Michael continued rubbing her back, murmuring words of praise and encouragement that Sylvia could barely process, but which her brain turned directly into determination to continue onwards.

Eventually even her redoubled efforts started to become insufficient to the task; a particularly hard contraction of her bladder squeezed a small leak from her, followed shortly by another. Over the following minutes her underwear was slowly moistened by a series of spurts, none of which reduced her need in the slightest; indeed, for every drop that escaped her bladder became only more determined to expel the rest. It was contracting constantly now, a series of waves of desperation battering at her exhausted muscles, her bladder simply at the limit of its capacity; Sylvia was full, as full as she could possibly be, and no amount of determination could delay her release any longer.

When the end came, for a moment she took it for another leak; it felt no different than all of the previous ones. It became obvious that this was different, though, when it simply failed to stop; a slow but constant trickle began to make its way out of her urethra, and though she tried to clench her muscles harder it just kept coming. “ _No, no, no no no-_ ” she muttered under her breath as the leak became faster and faster, her overworked sphincter unable to stop it, and the trickle became a flow which became a gush and then she was peeing full-force, despite her hands still pressed hard against her between her tightly-crossed legs.

Michael’s voice finally filtered into her conscious awareness. “You did so well,” she was saying. “I’m proud of you, Tilly. You’re amazing.”

“Thank you,” Sylvia sighed, and finally relaxed. Her pee gushed freely from her as she extricated her hands and uncrossed her legs; she slumped in her seat and leaned her upper body against Michael, unable to stay entirely upright as exhaustion hit her. It made sense, she supposed. She’d put herself through a _lot_.

It seemed to take forever for her bladder to empty, though logically she knew it wouldn’t be as long as Michael took on a regular basis. Michael put her arm around her completely, shifting her so her head was on Michael’s shoulder, and then leaned into the contact herself. And finally, eventually, her stream petered out.

“Would you like to know how you did?” Michael murmured.

“Mm-hm.” Sylvia nodded, Michael shifting slightly to accommodate the motion.

“Computer, report Tilly’s final results.”

“Tilly, Sylvia. Final capacity, one point six four litres. Final duration, thirteen hours, thirty-three minutes. New highest recorded capacity. New highest recorded duration.”

“You lasted twenty minutes longer than your record,” Michael noted, voice full of pride. “And almost three hundred millilitres. That was incredible, Tilly. I…” She trailed off. “You’re incredible.”

“Thank you.” Sylvia smiled, the praise prompting the familiar warm feeling in her chest that Michael so often elicited. The two of them sat together for a minute, until Tilly’s pants started to feel unpleasantly cold in their wetness. “Ugh,” she grumbled. “I should clean up.”

“Probably,” Michael agreed. Still, she didn’t move until Sylvia reluctantly pulled away from her. Standing upright was difficult; her legs had the approximate structural integrity of jelly. She staggered into the bathroom, stopping just inside the door to say, “Computer, start clean-up.” The door slid shut behind her as the computer announced its confirmation, and Sylvia quickly stripped down.

One benefit of Enterprise ships: The shower booths were soundproofed to prevent any high-frequency leakage. Thus, as long as she was quick about it, Sylvia didn’t have to worry about being quiet; she could take the chance to get off, to finger herself hard and fast and come moaning Michael’s name, without her being any the wiser.

As long as she remembered to lock the door.


End file.
